a curl of smoke
by cancerous cactus
Summary: Every strong rebellion begins with a martyr.


The room lights are hazy, oppressive in the heat they give off. It's hard to miss her, even in the poor lighting. She's like gravity, or the sun itself- an air of importance and _you need me, but I don't need you_ \- it's hard to breathe. She cuts a deceptively petite figure, thin and gaunt, but _long-_ her legs crossed and seemingly going forever in thin, fishnet tights. She's barefoot, wearing nothing but her tights and an unbuttoned white dress shirt, black lace lingerie the only thing keeping her from flashing everone in the room (not that Feferi thinks the Strider Head will actually mind). Jane is draped over her right shoulder, arm resting on the top of the black leather chair Roxy is lounging in, her head curled down and lips just brushing the top of Roxy's right ear. Red eyes- edging on pink, and Feferi _knows_ that's a mark of power, the sign of royal, pure, blood in the Strider clan- knows that it can only mean bad, bad things for the hazy eyed Jane that disappeared in the night last week, but she finds herself drawn to her, like a moth to the flame.

"What's a Pexies doing all the way out _here_?" Black painted lips circle around the long, scarlet, cigarette holder in her left, and the daring glint in her eyes suggests that Roxy knows exactly how dangerous it is to have a vampire near open flame, much less so close to her _face_ and is _daring_ anyone to comment. There's a breath in and out again, the smoke exiting from a fanged smirk, curling around her face as if sentient. "Did you lose something, little one?"

It would be insulting if it came from anyone else, but Roxy, the head of the Strider clan, is an _old,_ ancient, being- one of the last of the immortal folk to remember the reign of terror brought forth by the old gods. Her magic is as powerful as it old, and Feferi- only a a few centuries old as she is- is no match for her. "Not lost," she says, fisting her trembling hand, "but stolen, I believe." The magic around Roxy rises at her boldness, latent and powerful in the air, heady in it's weight, causes Jane to tremble and gasp and Feferi's own magic rises in challenge (she has always been better at combat magic, instead of the healing magic her clan is known for), desperate to protect Jane, a member of _her_ tribe, an heir to her mother's throne, a throne which Feferi desperately wishes to avoid, and taking back Jane, their strongest mage, is the only way she can.

A raspy chuckle escapes from Roxy, who leans back, placing her right hand on Jane's cheek and burying her nose in the hair behind ear, her fangs stark white against Jane's tanner skin. " _Stolen_?" She mocks, "no, no, _darling_ , I do believe dear Jane has come to me on her own free will." The hand on Jane's cheek grips underneath her chin, tilting her head so that Feferi can get a clear view of the two puncture wounds at the junction of Jane's neck and shoulder- a bite mark. It would explain the hazy, unfocused, eyes, her slightly paler face, and the strong reaction to the vampire's magic. Roxy shifts and her fangs brush against her neck, down to the bite, where she laves an open mouthed kiss to the mark, causing Jane to shudder and gasp. Feferi-

Feferi doesn't want to see this.

It makes her stomach roll, watching someone she considered to be an older sister, the most powerful in her tribe at healing magic, reduced to a mindless, brainwashed, shell of the fierce woman she knew not even a week ago. She has to fight the tears in her eyes and humiliated burn in her cheeks keeps her grounded in the present. "You're not going to get away with this," she says instead of the screaming and crying that threatens to release.

"And who will stop me?" She asks, her piercing gaze staring holes in Feferi, "your mother?" She pauses, her hand playing and tugging through Jane's short, dark, hair, "what is she calling herself these days? Lord Condensation?" She mocks, and Roxy's right, the only ones powerful enough to rival the Striders are the Captors, and the Captors will not listen to any plea of any Pexies- caught up in wrongs done thousands of years ago. Wrongs that keep the mage tribes apart, bitter hatred driving a wedge between the once close peoples.

"Maybe not now," Feferi says, as gracefully as she can manage through the tears brought on by hopelessness, "maybe not in this century," her green eyes, strained red with tears, lock with the cold, dispassionate gaze of the Strider Head, "but you will fall, and your tyranny _will_ end." Feferi knows then, when the painted black lips twitch ever so slightly up, that she will never leave the Strider compound alive. She walked in a lamb to the slaughter to face a madwoman intent on war. She cries a little bit harder.

A wave of her left hand, a careless "dispose of her", a drag of a cigarette, a curl of smoke-

"Do make sure her head gets back to her dear old mommy, won't you?"

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 **AN:** tell me what y'all think (here or on tumblr at carcinocacti)! do you want a continuation? thanks for reading!


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